


Mirror Mirror on the Wall

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Baker Castiel, Best Friends, Caring Castiel, Childhood Friends, Closeted Character, Closeted Dean, Dean Loves Pie, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Pie, Trans Character, Trans Dean, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby couldn’t afford the shots. Dean worked off of tips at Biggerson’s and Sammy was selling his video games—his childhood, to give Dean the happiness he’s never known. He’ll never stop feeling guilty for that.</p><p>Unexpectedly, Dean felt a shift in his mattress as a second figure shifted to settle against his own. Cas radiated warmth and comfort—something Dean wasn’t able to give himself unless it came from the edge of a blade. Cas didn’t touch those. Instead, he laced his fingers with Dean’s clenched ones and stared at his profile until Dean looked at him. When he did, Cas was smiling.</p><p>“Did I ever tell you I can make a killer pie?”</p><p>Or the one where Cas uses pie as a metaphor for his love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror Mirror on the Wall

“Dean, what’s ‘buttersex’?”

“What?”

“Buttersex,” Cas repeated. “I started typing butter and the suggestions bar gave me—”

Dean’s eyebrows creased into a seamless ‘V’. “Wait, why you were typing ‘butter’? I thought I gave you my phone to text your parents.”

“And I did. I insisted that I _had_ to stay because we were going to make buttermilk pancakes tomorrow.”

“We’re not making—”Castiel’s mouth spread like pancake batter on a hot pan. “I guess we’re going grocery shopping later.”

“You never answered my question.”

“It’s probably a typo, man.”

“A typo for what, exactly?” Cas’s tongue slid down the apex of his upper lip as a gleam hit his sapphire eyes.

Dean snatched his phone as Cas broke into a fit of laughter. They’d only been friends half as long as Dean knew his little brother, but Dean and Castiel shared everything—things Dean would barely share with Sam. Food, clothes, horror stories—hell, they’d even share beds if his was big enough, so he knew Cas. Sweet, eh; _hot_ , undeniably, but innocent?—they obviously don’t know him like Dean does.

“Buttsex,” he sighed, “You happy?”

Cas hummed before he used his index fingers to stretch the corners of his mouth into a distorted smile, the kind someone much wiser than they would tell their seven-year-old selves not to do because it would get stuck like that. “Why so _curious_ , Dean?”

“You’re an asshole,” he said without enough grit. Cas shrugged.

“You are what you eat.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to picture saggy vaginas. “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you—”

Dean raised an accusing finger. “Don’t even.”

“I was talking about the _pancakes,_ obviously.”

“Yeah, obviously nothing you perv.” Dean tossed his fluffiest pillow at him as the length-long mirror on his closed closet captured his reflection.

Staring back at him was someone he once knew—a girl he’d been trying to dispose of for years. He cut his hair, let his eyebrows grow in along with the hair under his arms and legs, and wore longer tops to cover the extra fat on his chest, but like toxic waste, she just kept rising to the surface, reminding him of the past he’d long since erased.

Bobby couldn’t afford the shots. Dean worked off of tips at Biggerson’s and Sammy was selling his video games—his _childhood_ , to give Dean the happiness he’s never known. He’ll never stop feeling guilty for that.

Unexpectedly, Dean felt a shift in his mattress as a second figure shifted to settle against his own. Cas radiated warmth and comfort—something Dean wasn’t able to give himself unless it came from the edge of a blade. Cas didn’t touch those. Instead, he laced his fingers with Dean’s clenched ones and stared at his profile until Dean looked at him. When he did, Cas was smiling.

“Did I ever tell you I can make a killer pie?” he asked, squeezing his palm.

It took him a minute, but Dean squeezed back. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

“Mmm, sadly this good time you speak of won’t involve any buttersex.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” he asked just as his phone vibrated. Confused, he retrieved the Samsung Galaxy from his left side pocket. A shit-eating smirk played on his lips.

It was Cas’s turn to narrow his eyes. “What?” Dean held the phone out to Cas so he could see, in plain letters, the word _buttersex_ woven into his last sent text.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s gonna need an explanation.”

***

Dean moaned around the tangy fixative coating his bereaved tastebuds as he brought the fork between his teeth again. When Cas said he made a mean pie, he wasn’t being the pretentious asshole he typically was. They were up until midnight watching dough rise. Cherry, pecan—Cas even introduced him to the little-known Cheeseburger Pickle Pie that sounded like an abomination to dessert foods until it hit his tongue. Dean’s never burnt his mouth so fast over an _actual_ cheeseburger.

“Cas, I need you to be honest with me,” Dean began, shifting the gooey contents of Cas’s latest creation—Frito Chili Pie, also a winner—to the left side of his mouth so he could speak. “Did you raid my mom’s recipe book?”

Cas chuckled, sliding out of borrowed baking gloves to pull out the chair next to Dean. “Honestly, I wish I did, you know to honor her memory.”

“Believe me, you have.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

Dean was silent for a moment, only half because of the pie. “Okay, but seriously, where the hell did you learn how to bake, _Cake Boss_?”

“I have a lot of spare time.”

“Dude, you’re in Honors _._ ”

“Hitler thought he could paint.” Cas stole Dean’s fork to stab into the fleshy part of the Cheeseburger pie before plopping a small piece into his mouth. No reaction, just a few chews and the light bob of his Adam’s apple as it traveled north and south before resting at the equator of his tanned throat.

Dean gaped at him. “Who _are_ you?”

“The real question is who you would be without me,” Cas said, jabbing into the same cheesy crust pie as he handed Dean’s fork back.

“Skinnier, for one,” he threw out. Cas slapped him. “Hey, I’m not atoning for honesty.”

Like an umpire signaling for a slider, Cas catches Dean off-guard with a curveball: “Do you know why I chose those pies?” Dean shrugged. He honestly didn’t even think of it. “They remind me of you.”

Cas leaned over the table, pulled the half-eaten cherry pie toward them, and began with those no filter blue eyes that pierced into Dean’s soul deeper than any homemade pie. “Cherry reminds me of the sacrifices you made for your family.” His voice didn’t quite match the cadence in his words. “You took care of Sam despite not being strong enough to take care of yourself, and yet you’re one of the sweetest people I know.”

Next, he pulled the pecan pie toward them. Despite the lump in his throat, Dean croaked out, “I take it that one was your way of telling me I’m a little nutty?”

The corners of Cas’s lips quirked up, but didn’t form a smile. “Pecan reminds me of how people see you for who you are on the outside, and how lucky I am to know you for what’s on the inside. Even though you’re pretty hot, they’d have to be blind not to see that.” Dean flushed as Cas’s eyes flittered to the remaining two pies. “And the other two, well, they represent me and the hurdles I had to overcome. So I guess you could say the addition of those means the unity of two people.”

“Cas… what are you saying?” Dean’s heart was training for a marathon the way it ran against his ribcage.

“Would you rather me say it or show you?”

“I’ll take Door Number 2, please,” Dean said feebly as Castiel’s tongue met his in a billion unspoken promises. Dean smiled into his mouth, drawing him closer until there was no room for words or pie or self-doubt. Beyond a Southern American classic and Dean's tears, Cas tasted like finding home after years of searching for the very definition of the word.

That night, Dean’s mirror reflected not one, but two boys lying in his bed.


End file.
